Boyfriend
by herosexual
Summary: Hermione is alone because she wants to be. However, this does not mean she doesn't have ideas about her ideal dearest. Yes to: Owning a castle. No to: Playing ukulele. Unfortunately for her, a certain Slytherin can echolocate like a bat.


Hermione sat alone in the library. She was not alone because of a lack of viable social interaction as a means to company, but more so as she liked to put it, as a choice to nurture her soul; quietly, away from the irritating distractions of her peers and their various raucous insinuating activities. They had been ejected promptly from the library after an incident with a shoe and pot of tea. Seamus had ended up with a few minor burns and a moderate case of interrupted blood circulation. Hermione grimaced slightly remembering the circumstances of the last such occurrence. It was not pleasant. She worked on burrowing her way through _The Practical Guide For Taming and Managing Unruly House Guests and Unexpected Visitors_ by Matteius S. Clockendown, it had been recommended to her by Lavender after Ron and Harry decided that her bed in the dormitory would be the ideal place to bunk down after flying practice in the rain, un-showered and practically plunging into assorted packages from Honeydukes. She was still waking up to find limp chocolate frogs inside her sheets. Hermione shivered and tried to train her eyes back on to the page, focus on something solid and useful, just read.

Minutes passed. She pulled her cloak in closer around her, even though the sun was bright, shining happily through the window in the alcove, there was a distinct acerbic bite in the air and Hogwarts students had long learned to recognize the signs that mother nature was on the verge of knocking their thermo charms right out of the sky. Her thick hair curled and cocooned her face as the pages turned. She had reached the beginning of chapter eighteen; it's captivating subject matter being that of polite conversation to fill awkward silences of duration between forty and seventy seconds when she slammed the book closed. There was a minute echo and her mind began to wander. Perhaps it could be better described as striding purposefully down a bustling street with absolutely no idea of where one was directed and nor what one would do when they arrived.

It was just so irritatingly painful, her two best friends were in a nutshell: boys. Loud, inopportune, inappropriate, unkempt, pubescent males. It wasn't as though she held it against them of course, it was actually refreshing sometimes in contrast to the endlessly gossipy flitter-minded girls of her year. But she wanted something more, why was her (practically) only male company a duo of unrefined youths? This was definitely not what she had in mind when given the chance of attending a school for talented young people for oh so many years of her life. It was ridiculous though wasn't it? To expect so much of people, they were her greatest friends, they had been to the abyss and teetered at the edge together, hadn't they? Harry and Ron were amazing, unique individuals. But try as she might, Hermione could not get back to Clockendown's eight hundred-page tome of Hosting enlightenment. But it wasn't just about their friendship. Hermione cherished all of her friends she just…

Her mind filled with images of reclining and luxuriating in a gondola pushed by a handsome European, or sipping bright concoctions of her berry-farming beloved's creation. She dispelled them quickly, though the smell of fresh bread and sun-warmed books lingered. Pointless, time wasting; she could be reading, her left hand curled into the masses of her hair twisting and knotting; and besides, the probability of her meeting anyone as fantastical as her fictional creations amongst the peer group she identified with was—she was too bent up, she couldn't even formulate a simple algorithm. As the sounds of other people moving about the library grew more and more dispersed Hermione began to relax the tension in her mind, slowly giving into her inner teenage girl, and her inner teenage girl began drafting the blueprint for her ideal boyfriend.

YES: Intelligence. She winced and muttered, 'Sorry, Ron.'

NO: Being an elitist about it— Hermione assured herself this was not hypocritical.

YES: Funny.

NO: Moronic or inconvenient.

YES: Reads. She rearranged the pro/con list in her mind placing read above funny.

NO: Loves books more than her. This criterion must not apply to her.

YES: Kind.

NO: Nothing creepy or too clingy.

YES: Aesthetic attractiveness.

NO: Sports. (Except maybe swimming.)

PLUSES: Is creative, plays music (well), doesn't sing, has/owns a library/castle/large bathtub, has nice pets (golden retriever, German shepherd, Dalmatian, cats. No tiny dogs.), dresses well, can bake, is eloquent.

MINUES: Has noisy neighbors, likes attending parties—incessantly, uses the words, "doll face," or "baby," or "coitus," plays the ukulele.

As her head eased back and reclined onto the bookshelf behind her Hermione's eyes closed. As her establishment in reality faded, the pictures flickering behind her eyelids became sharper, they crystallized. Rows of citrus trees stretched before her and she clung tightly to the waist of the lean, fair-haired man in front of her as the dark brown horse pounded the earth. Wind and noise blurred her senses until all she could hear was their laughing and all she could see was the hint of a smile peeking around at her. Bolting through the orchard they pummeled dirt until they left the trees and sweet orange scents behind and came to a stream. It was shallow and the water was like fluid glass, the bottom flecked with pebbles and sand. Dismounting, her inamorato held out a warm hand to help her down. As her feet mingled with the warm, gratifying grass the man started to roll up his dark grey slacks and white shirtsleeves and wade into the stream. Yelping a little from the cold and laughing as tiny fish flitted about his calves he beckoned her to come in. A smile enchanting enough to make potions out of, was hidden, just touching the edges of his lips.

Faux-reluctantly she gathered the bottom of her sundress up and edged into the flow of the water. It wasn't nearly as old as she expected, the sun had penetrated the shallow water and she would feel the warm gravel-like streambed crunch beneath her. Finally she made it to the bar that he was standing on the stream diverting and carousing into to rivulets around their legs. He pulled her closer and wrapped his forearms around her back. She looked into his gray; hazel flecked eyes and closed her own, leaning closer until—

"Granger?"

Hermione jackknifed out of her daydream, toppling the long forgotten book in front of her to the floor at the sound of the irritating noise of Malfoy. She composed herself as best as she could and narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you want Malfoy?" She hoped her voice intoned the exact mixture of exasperation, hatred and apathy she felt towards him currently. "Don't lose your pants, Mudblood, I was passing by when I saw you and, being the decent person that I am, checked if you were conscious." Hermione was almost sure her ankle twitched in fury. Picking up her book from the floor and shoving it into her bag emphatically she brusquely hit back, "Thanks, Snake-face but next time don't bother." Striding out of the alcove she heard him call at her, "Maybe next time I should kiss you awake," as Hermione spun around aghast he imitated her, "Gray eyes," his eyebrow quirked up, "Who's that I wonder? Fancy some like you with someone like—" At this point the brain under the blonde stopped it's stream of caustic verbalizing, instead becoming occupied with the gushing, mind-numbing pain emanating from somewhere below his belt. Malfoy crumpled to the ground. As she replaced the book into her bag Hermione mused over how after all the reading the most useful the eight hundred-page book had been was when it was closed and between someone's legs.

As the moans of the stricken Malfoy faded away Hermione felt company coming up behind. "Wow." Ron was ecstatic. "You couldn't have invited me to the show?" Hermione tried not to smirk and warned, "Just let it be." He did not; he persisted. "Oh c'mon. What was all that about? Did he insult your hair again or—" A mocking, but evidently pained wail rose up from behind them, "I thought you loved me, Granger." Hermione winced. Ron was never going to stop now. "What, in the name of all that is good is he going on about, Hermione?" As she tried to shake him off her mind looked for subject changes. "He was just; you know, being Malfoy." Ron looked unimpressed before launching into a tirade, "Hermione, that's bollocks, I know something big happened between you two and I intend to find out what. If Malfoy being Malfoy was enough to warrant you ripping him a new one everything time you made eye contact I think you could safely declare the Draco line terminated, or at the very least déclassé."

When he finished Hermione tried not to giggle; "Déclassé?" Ron rolled his eyes and nudged her in the ribs, "I can actually read you know." As the tall redhead tried to stare intently at her Hermione came to a roadblock at all proposed topic shifts. "Okay, okay. I think I drifted off, muttered something about gray eyes and Malfoy decided that I was voraciously in love with him. Or something." In her somewhat sheltered life Hermione had believed that no one could asphyxiate from too much laughter, until now.

After he was finally able to pull himself together Ron looked up her, eyes glistening, "Thank you Hermione, you have truly enriched my life. And besides," his voice took on a serious tone, "You know you want me, Hermione." She outwardly groaned and over the clamor of the students changing classes yelled, "What_ever_," before spotting Harry and dashing off to more civilized company. His blue eyes flecked with gray watched her as she made her escape. Ron smiled to himself and put his hands in his pockets.

"We'll see."


End file.
